


What, do you live in a tent?

by Ellie_East



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Smut, Tents, bellamy loves it, murphy is a perve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 09:41:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6561361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellie_East/pseuds/Ellie_East
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sharing a tent with Bellamy Blake is the worst (best) decision of John Murphy's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What, do you live in a tent?

**Author's Note:**

> Idefk, sorry in advanced for any mistakes. Enjoy the shameless (though kinda tame for me) smut

 

 

Sharing a tent with Bellamy Blake is the worst decision of John Murphy's life.

Not because he's an obnoxious ass that pushes all of Murphy's buttons at exactly the wrong moments. Not because there were countless other choices he could of made, such as his best friend, Mbege. Not because Bellamy disappears every other night to do god knows what or who. But because Murphy is _**hopelessly**_ in love with him.

It wasn't planned, but it wasn't unavoidable either. Murphy knew from the second he first saw Bellamy effortlessly commanding 100 criminals in that god damn guard jacket (he's always had a thing for the authority figures, alright?) that he would be doomed if he allowed himself near the guy.

So he tried to keep his distance, honestly he did, but then the brown eyed beefcake had to go and zero him out of the crowd anyway. Sure, he asked Mbege to be his co-captain too but the way his gaze lingered that second too long on Murphy's fresh lips didn't help his cause very much.

Before Murphy knew it, he'd fucking die for Bellamy bloody Blake. And he took every possible chance he could to prove it wether it was a knife fight with mini Jaha, a dangerous trek through grounder territory or climbing up a booby trapped tree to save goggles of all people.

He spent his first week on earth furiously fucking his clenched fist every night in attempt to rid himself of all his pent up frustration from the days of glistening sweat and thick curls.

His eighth night on this hell hole didn't quite go as planned. Apparently trying to get into Mbege's pants as a distraction from his own new demons was a dick move. That particular disagreement left Murphy stumbling around camp at the hour God forgot with no shoes, no jacket, a torn shirt and a swollen lip.

Really he's just planning on finding a nice rock and praying to the Arc above that no one knifes him in his sleep.

His pulse is ringing annoyingly loud in his ears. It keeps echoing over the part of his lip that's trying its hardest to burst open. His hair keeps falling in to his red rimmed eyes and this is all so fucking stupid because John Murphy doesn't cry alright, he just has a branch in his eye or something.

Fuck Mbege anyway. He's been trying for god knows how long to get Murphy into his bed. They've always been brothers, but it's become rather apparent this last year that Mbeges taken notice of Murphy in a different way. But when it comes down to it, Murphy knows he shouldn't use Mbege to get over someone else. That swing was more than deserved.

Murphy's aimlessly wandering now. He really does need to start paying more attention to not stalking straight out of the camp and into the clutches of some wilder beast but he couldn't be fucked less. Literally.

Without a single thread of connection from his brain, Murphy's legs decide he's going to head North. Honestly He has no idea if its actually North but he remembers some shit about a really fucking bright star in Earth Skills so he's guessing it can't be too far off.

It doesn't really come as a surprise when he body slams into Bellamy's shirtless side.

Of course his dick overtook his legs and decided he would end up right outside the assfaces tent with practically no clothes on.

Bellamy doesn't even move in slightest as Murphy ricochets off his side, he just silently watches as Murphy takes an uneasy step back to stop himself falling flat on his ass. Smooth, Murphy. Real fucking smooth.

In all honesty he's too caught up in the sharp planes of the mans abs to care that much.

He can't quite tell if he's disappointed or incredibly relieved that Bellamy doesn't have chest hair. In his fantasies he's far too focused on how Bellamy's pretty lips would do that little 'o' things as he- and Jesus Murphy should really stop before Bellamy punches him out for staring too long.

And he really has been staring for a while now. Fuck. His eyes instinctively flick up to Bellamy's face, but he's only met with the glorious sight of definite after sex hair and blown pupils. Double fuck. He can't risk looking at anywhere on this assholes body without popping a boner can he? Wait a minute, feet. Murphy doesn't have a foot fetish right? Well there's only one way to find out.

Bellamy's only got one boot tugged on properly. Fuck that's adorable. Murphy really is doomed.

"Murphy," Bellamy's hoarse voice does funny things to the pit of Murphy's stomach, "what the fuck are you doing?"

Right, communication is a thing. You're not supposed to stumble to the front of a persons tent at 3 am and just gawk at them for five minutes without an explanation.

"Murphy," Bellamy warns again, obviously tiring of the silent act. All the younger boy can think about is how Bellamy's voice should be illegal, especially at this time of night when anything that deep screams of sin and debauchery. Big word for the likes of Murphy but he does love to play it up on occasion.

"Can't you tell?" He huffs, praying to all things holy the dim moonlight isn't showing just how red his cheeks have flushed. "It's a midnight stroll through the garden."

Bellamy only gives him a pissy look in reply.

"Mbege kicked me out." He finally grumbles to the dirty ground turning his bare feet into icicles with every passing second. He's been so hyped up on after fight adrenaline and oh my god there's a Greek god in front of me hormones he's barley noticed just how fucking cold it is.

The night air around them bites at his toes and fingers with vicious needle like teeth. The faintest of winds sends a sharp knife of pain right up the column of his spine. The boy can't help but shiver and hunch himself over even further to escape all this bullshit.

Bellamy seems as if he's about to tell Murphy to get the fuck over it like a real man and go gut a bear to sleep in when he suddenly freezes. For the first time in this incredibly painful experience, he fully turns toward Murphy and takes in his rugged appearance.

His dark eyes leave searing marks over the stark contrast of Murphy's pale feet, up his torn jeans, over the tight pull of his dirty t shirt, across the gaping hole on his shoulder then finally to the harsh red of blood blotting over Murphy's fat lower lip. This is the kind of thing that leaves the younger boy squirming with both fear and anticipation.

How fucked is he that he wouldn't mind if Bellamy pushed him away because at least he touched him? Or that he's happy Bellamy is at least looking at him with disgust because it's still a form of attention from the older boy?

No. He's fought hard to build this wild and reckless image. He lets red rages of fury come across as scary rather than something to be pitied for a reason. One idiotic crush isn't going to change that.

After an excruciatingly long pause, the curly haired man only sighs loudly before disappearing back into the warm confines of his own giant tent.

Right. So that's that. Murphy doesn't know why he was expecting anything else. He fights the sudden tightness in his chest and bravely starts off in the opposite direction.

Screw Bellamy anyway. If he can think that about Mbege it shouldn't be any different for Blake should it? Rejection is a pill Murphy's used to swallowing by now.

"Wait," the pale boy is suddenly pulled short by the sound of Bellamy's voice again. This time as he slowly turns back, Bellamy's only half way out of the tent, one hand tightly clutching an old shirt. He still has that funny frown plastered over his handsome features though, "just come in."

Murphy freezes. He can't have heard that right. Bellamy can't mean...no he doesn't. He just thinks Murphy is too much of an idiot to survive the night out on his own and is taking shameful self aggrandised pity on him.

Still, Murphy hesitates. In this light the distant moon is casting deep shadows over Bellamy silhouetted figure, making the sharp angles of his cheekbones and defined jaw seem even more intimidating yet irresistible.

"Murphy," Bellamy's voice takes on a degree of irritation the boy can't stand to hear, "either you come in or freeze to death, I don't care." And with that's he's vanished back into his tent, leaving the shirt haphazardly tossed on the ground after him.

Murphy doesn't hesitate for a second after the flap is restored. He darts forward and has his own ruined shirt off in seconds before he's drowning himself in the oversized garment. It's perfect and soft and smells like musk and sweat and all of Murphy's desires rolled into one. What? He takes what he can get. With the sudden burst of movement, Murphy propels himself unabashedly into the older boys tent.

What he doesn't expect is to immediately smack into a wall of muscle ( _ **again**_ ) upon entry.

He stumbles back with a hiss as an instinctive hand flies up to protect his already throbbing lip. He really isn't maintaining the whole "don't look like a lost little doe in the forest" act very well tonight.

For a second what could possibly be a glimmer of guilt flashes over Bellamy's dark eyes, but it's gone as quickly as it came.

Bellamy is now giving him that stupid frown all over again as Murphy jams his frozen fingers into his back pockets. The nonchalant show obviously isn't coming off very strong through violent shivers. Don't get Murphy wrong, Bellamy's tent is the kind of warm that almost instantly starts up a sweat but he was out in the open air for quite some time.

The older boy gives him a final once over, again doing that infuriating thing where his gaze lingers for that bit too long near his mouth, before sharply turning away.

"Furs are mine, there's a few spare bits in the corner there. You can pull the excess parachute down as a wall. Just don't collapse the place." Bellamy says it in disconnected tone, like having a needy Murphy in his tent is the last possible thing he would want on this earth.

To say the least it stings but then again Murphy is a bit too lost in the dips and curves of Bellamy's back muscles to care yet again.

With a quiet click of his throat as he swallows around his suddenly dry mouth, Murphy determinedly stalks around his friend toward the 'bits' in the corner.

To his surprise there's actually a number of spare furs heaped around one fluffy folded scrap pillow. The area even takes up a good third of the whole tent from what Murphy can see in the dim torch light cascading through the red fabric walls.

"Thanks," he grumbles as he reaches for the overhead piece of material. He isn't gonna give Bellamy a free show to his half hard on so he's got his wall violently yanked down behind him before Bellamy can even think to reply.

~

The next morning Murphy wakes to the sound of obnoxiously loud giggles and a face full of scratchy fur. The night before barely gave way to any rest. Yet that isn't anyone's fault other than Murphy's. He was far too focused on fighting the urge to furiously wank to the sound of Bellamy breathing for fucks sake. He really has plunged off the deep end here with no idea how to swim.

It's merely salt poured over his wound when he realises the grating giggling noise is coming from right outside his makeshift wall.

He should just roll over and ignore it. The way the sun is only just peaking over the tents far wall is an indicator that doing so and burying his his head under his pillow would be completely expectable. But of course that's not what Murphy does. Instead he leans in that little bit further to shamelessly eavesdrop.

The giggling is definitely a girl but he can't quite pinpoint who. Probably that one chick always sniffing around Bellamy. Not Roma, although she has established herself as top bitch, the blonde one that isn't Clarke but looks dangerously like her. Murphy likes to ignore that fact with vigour.

It isn't until her helpless giggles shift over to obnoxious moans that Murphy's heard enough. He is not going to just lie there while Bellamy gets this chick off and doesn't even make a noise himself.

He makes a show of loudly kicking his furs off and slowly pushing his way onto unsteady feet so the couple know that he is in fact there and at least half way conscious.

By the time he's climbed into his pants and shoved his the wall door thing aside with a huff the girl has clambered out of the bed and halfway out the door. At least Murphy's reputation as the camp asshole will give him something useful. Bellamy on the other hand is rather unashamedly lounged over his bed in nothing but a pair of thin boxers which holy fuck Murphy was not expecting that. He isn't usually a guy for morning wood but the sight of tan thighs and hip v's is making him awkwardly shuffle his hands around his front.

"I went and got your stuff," Bellamy says as he tucks his arms behind his head, completely oblivious to what the strain of his biceps is doing to Murphy's dick.

"Why?" Murphy asks before his brain can think to stop his mouth, his voice is about two times coarser than usual.

"You're moving in aren't you?" Bellamy grins as he suddenly pulls one leg toward himself.

"...yeah," Murphy replies trying his hardest to keep his eyes on a spot just above Bellamy's morning curls.

"We got a lot of shit to do this week," Bellamy overtly states like it's no big deal he just flipped Murphy's whole world upside down, "best to have you near."

"...right." Murphy mumbles again, this time completely foregoing trying to look above Bellamy and instead to the furthest wall of the tent. The other boy doesn't say anything else so Murphy quickly bends down to gather up the small pile of his things and retreat back into his new living quarters.

This is going to be fun.

~

The next night is anything but fun. The day was smouldering hot and building the wall and fixing tents and a hundred of other things Bellamy ordered him to do has made Murphy so tired he could pass out just about anywhere.

And he almost does on a log by the bonfire in the middle of camp. He managed to make it up to Mbege during the day with a half assed apology and agreement to never try to fuck him again so he's happily dozing away under his best friends protection when a sharp laugh breaks out beside him.

"Look at the sleeping beauty," Atom harrows as he shoves a foot against Murphy's side.

"Fuck off," he bites back as he jams his fist right into the side of the boys knee. It hurts like hell but it's worth the Yelp in pain he gets as a result.

He's on his feet in seconds before Atom can even thinks to throw a swing at him.

"Enough," Bellamy orders as he trudges over to the pair. He's got his jacket bunched in an angry fist and a glare to match.

"What," Mbege chuckles lowly, "Roma turn you down tonight?"

"Shut up," Bellamy barks back as he shoots the boy a vicious snarl. "Murphy, with me."  
And just like that Murphy is helplessly stumbling over his feet toward their tent.

~

"It was Clarke wasn't it?" Murphy cautiously starts as he follows his crush through their tent flap.

"She isn't letting me anywhere near Jasper and people keep bitching about how loud he is." Bellamy sighs as he throws his jacket to the floor.

"I can put him out of his misery if you want." Murphy offers with a sly grin. He's very wisely decided to hang by the exit of the tent, just in case Bellamy's temper blows out from under him again.

"Later," Bellamy grumbles back. He's roughly scrubbing a hand over his face in a rare show of exhaustion Murphy never thought he'd be privy too. Apparently this whole leader thing is getting to Bellamy more than he's letting on. Honestly Murphy would be on a full power trip right now. He kind of already is. People seeing him emerge from Bellamy's tent as his new bunk mate certainly pissed quite a few of the other boys off this morning.

"Soooo..." Murphy's starts once the silence has stretched that bit too long. "No Roma tonight?" He rocks back on his heels in an attempt to make the question way more casual than his shaky voice can portray.

Bellamy lets out a harsh laugh as his hands fall away from his face. "She doesn't quite agree with you taking her place."

Murphy feels his cheeks flush to the red of a tomato he once saw in a book. Bellamy didn't mean it like...but it sure sounded like it.

Of course, the curly haired boy either doesn't notice the sudden shift in his skin tone or pretends he doesn't as he kicks his shoes off with ease.

"You can leave the wall up tonight," he sighs as Murphy awkwardly shuffles from foot to foot, "no morning visitors, I promise."

The mischievous grin on his face says anything but. Murphy can't bring himself to care because now he'll get to fight off wanking to the sight of Bellamy breathing. Fuck that sounded weird.

Just standing by the door waiting for Bellamy to strip down probably looks a little suss so Murphy cautiously wanders around the edge of the tent to his smaller bed. All the while pretending not he can't feel Bellamy's curious eyes trailing after him.

Bellamy letting Murphy bunk with and not having any girl over for the night is so uncharacteristic it's thrown Murphy for a loop. He just can't figure out Bellamy's end game. He already has Murphy wrapped around his little finger, not that the blue eyed boy would ever admit it out loud, so why the friendly act all of a sudden? Bellamy needs Murphy as his underling. His wild card. His lap dog and dear god is that a nice thought. But in the end he's nothing more...right?

Murphy lets his musing distract him through the awkward process of yanking off his his own jacket and shoes in full view of Bellamy. He seen him barefoot and jacket less before but the knowledge that the older man is unbuckling his belt inches away is playing tricks with Murphy's mind.

The sound of Bellamy stepping out of his trousers and gracefully hoping down onto his bed fills the room.

Murphy tries his best to stop himself from practically tearing his pants off and diving under his covers but then it seems like he's pushing the fabric down his thighs a bit too slow to be not sexual. Instead he hurriedly climbs out of them and into his own bed.

He's done well to avoid any form of eye contact with his crush up until this point but once he's tossed and turned in his sheets for a good fifteen minutes he finally lets himself glance over to the bed across from him.

It really isn't a good idea since he's met with the sight of two large brown eyes peering at him with a mischievous glint.

"Goodnight, Murphy." Bellamy chuckles as he shifts ever so slightly to angle his face away.

Murphy knows it isn't purposeful but Bellamy looks pracitcally splayed out now. Murphy's got a full eyeful of more than half of Bellamy's sculpted body. One of Bellamy's glorious legs is jutting out completely from under the covers and the top part of his chest is steadily rising and falling just above a particularly beautiful black fur.

Murphy patiently watches and waits for Bellamy's breaths to even out before he even dares to move.

He lets his right hand trail from his collarbone to the jut of his nipple just under his shirt, simultaneously trying to imagine it's Bellamy hand on him and his hand caressing Bellamy's hunky chest.

No. He has to stop. He has self control. He is not jacking off with Bellamy a mere metre away. For all he knows Bellamy could still be awake. He could be lying there just waiting for Murphy to slip up so he can drag him out in front of everyone and reveal him for the pervert he is.

But as the night stretches on and the sound of soft crickets replaces the murmur of tired voices outside, Bellamy's breath only deepens.

By the time the last straggling delinquent finds a place to crash for the night Murphy is 100% sure Bellamy has to be asleep by now.

He's rolled his head back to where Murphy can just make out the soft edges of his profile against dying fire light. He really is quite terribly beautiful. He has prominent brows and a unique nose and lips to end the world all over again. It those that decide Murphy fate. He just can't help but imagine what they'd feel like hurriedly smashed against his. Or gently pressed against the soft swell of his own healing lower lip. Or maybe attached to his collarbone in a mess of teeth and tongue. Or wrapped around his cock in an attempt to vanish all of Murphy's worries from the stressful day.

The last thought doesn't do much for him. But his own lips stretched over the thick girth of Bellamy does wonders for his imagination (and hard on). From what he's heard around camp and observed through the thin layer of Bellamy's boxers today, it's an impressive girth at that. Murphy wouldn't be surprised if it took him a few tries to get used to the feel of it sliding down his throat. But by the gods would he try. He'd let Bellamy pin him against a tree and fuck his mouth raw or hold his head in place as he woke up to the feeling of it pressing against his lips.

Murphy's hips involuntarily grind forward against the ground beneath him. The harsh catch of furs over his grey boxers almost dragging a gasp out of his mouth.

Murphy tries his hardest to turn onto his back without a sound but the crinkly walls around him don't do him much good. He waits a cautionary few moments before he even lets his hand begin to wander it's way down his torso again.

In the faint light Murphy can just make out the little bit of skin flashing from under Bellamy's sheets. It's just above where his boxers meet hip bone. What Murphy wouldn't give to sink his teeth into that. The thought alone has him grinding up into his palm.

Murphy isn't usually one to tease but if he's going to do this, he's going all out.

His eyes drag up from the soft flesh of Bellamy's hip to the thick curl of muscle around his shoulder. They're giant hulky things that Murphy's knows would just fit so perfectly under his clenched hands. Almost as perfectly as his own twig like thighs around Bellamy's surprisingly slim waist. But he's getting ahead of himself here.

Murphy's fingers ever so slowly work their way under his waistband as he properly takes in the soft smudges of Bellamy's eye lash against his soft freckled cheeks. What he wouldn't give to see those big brown eyes boring into his as he wraps deft fingers around his length. But that would mean Bellamy would have to be awake so that's sadly out of the picture.

What he also wouldn't give for just a little bit of lube as he glances his eyes down to where Bellamy's boxers sit dangerously low over his stomach. Even one finger inside of him would help with the imagery of Bellamy pummelling him into the dirt.

Bellamy being rough and pinning Murphy's wrists above his head and viciously sinking his teeth into the sensitive skin of his neck has Murphy finally, finally gliding his hand up over his cock.

~

This isn't happening.

Bellamy is just imagining it.

This can't be real.

But it is.

Murphy is...right there and he's...

This can't be real.

Bellamy thinks he might just implode.

He knew this was inevitable. Hell, it was probably the main reason why he asked, well ordered, the idiot to move in in the firs place. But this soon? He thought getting to watch Murphy tug those damn jeans off over his ridiculously milky white thighs would be his only blessing for the night...but this?

Bellamy knows his crush is stupid. He even refuses to call it a crush out side of moments like this. He just thinks that Murphy is...intriguing. He likes girls. He likes Roma. He likes girls bodies. He likes it all its just...something about the chaotic storm that is John Murphy drives him wild with lust.

He's got such a strange beauty. Such a striking personality. He's anything but easy to deal with but challenges are Bellamy's thing.

This though, he has no idea how to handle. Letting himself lead Murphy on with little glances and jealously lays is bad enough but listening in on him whacking one out feels like a bit much.

He isn't daring to move. He isn't daring to open his eyes. He isn't daring to change his breathing at all.

Murphy probably isn't paying any attention to him right now but he's certainly interested in him to say the least. Bellamy isn't blind or an oblivious idiot no matter what Octavia says. He knows Murphy has feelings for him. Even if they are based in some weird authority figure thing.

He's overanalysing this. He needs to focus. He has a choice here. He can either stay where he is, panicking his ass off till Murphy finishes, turn away and block all noise out or he can turn toward the boy and maybe even peel an eye open to lock some minor details into his wank bank for later. Not that he really needs to jack off anymore with helping hands at the ready anywhere he goes. What? He's allowed to have fun. The girls know what type of guy he is well before they come near him and he will always make sure they do.

He's getting distracted again and by the sound of it Murphy picking up the pace. Fuck that's hot. He can practically conjure up a visual of Murphy losing himself in the little flicks of his wrist at the end of every pump and he isn't even being that loud.

It's the weak little huff of breath from across the room that has him making a snap decision.

He tilts his face toward Murphy in hope it'll hide his features from view and his hips toward the torch light in hopes it'll do the opposite.

~

Fuck Bellamy just moved.

Murphy has to the grip base of his cock so hard he thinks he might burst a vein to stop himself from gasping with panic.

It's okay. He's still asleep. He was just shuffling around. He can't hear Murphy. He can't see him either. Or at least that's what Murphy can guess now that his face is concealed in shadow.

Damn, Murphy was really working it up to the way his nose crinkles up on occasion. Yes, it's lame but it's too god damn adorable to ignore.

Now Murphy has to go looking for something else to fuel his fantasies.

A hand or maybe even a long thing finger would suffice right now as one of his own flicks up over the head of his cock to wipe away the gathering precum there.

As he gets to the junction of Bellamy's hip again, something catches his eye. An ever so small patch of wetness on Bellamy's otherwise pristine white boxers.

Wait a minute. Wait. Wait. Wait.

That's not just a giant shadow. That's...but it's huge.

The impressive length of Bellamy's long cock is bulging against the tight fabric of his shorts.

Murphy almost finishes then and there because holy fuck would that thing feel lovely splitting him open.

Murphy can just imagine it now as he fights to remember what breathing is again.

He begins to work his tight fist over his cock again as a strangled whimper escapes his lips.

~

Dear god, that sound is not fair.

Bellamy can tell Murphy is biting back any number of sinful moans right now and it's driving him up the walls.

He's still hasn't opened his eyes yet. He might not be able to take the sight without snatching his cock into his hand and pinning the boy down so he can finish all over him.

God the thought of finally seeing big fat drops of his cum splattering over the soft swell of Murphy's plump lower lip almost has him letting out a moan of his own.

With another small groan from across the room, Bellamy just can't take it anymore. He has to see this.

He lets his right eyelid crack open about the width of a thumbnail and is instantly met with what is possibly the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Murphy's stretched out on top of his furs, one hand disappearing up under his shirt to shove a handful of fabric into his mouth while the other is furiously working under his boxers.

His usually milky pale skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat of dirt and odd reflections in the low lamp light but Bellamy couldn't care less.

If anything it makes him look more edible.

Murphy's thigh shakes and Bellamy feels his free will cave that little inch further.

He needs friction. He needs something, anything to relieve this hideous built up pressure.

That's when he realises that Murphy's eyes have been open this whole time. The eyes that could drag Bellamy to the ends of the earth and back. The blue, blue orbs they keep him going. Even when Octavia pushes him back. Even when the boys slip up. Even when Clarke doubts him. He can always come back to those blues.

Jesus, it's been eight whole fucking days and Bellamy's already long gone.

He's getting lost in the oceans of John fucking Murphy and would be happy to drown any day. Especially when Murphy looks at his cock like he wants to devour every inch of it.

And he is. Right now. It's feels like his eyes may as well be a hand reaching out and lightly tracing over the pulsing length.

Bellamy can't take another second.

"Murphy."

~

Fuck.

Fuckity fuck.

Shit fuck shit.

Murphy's dead. This is it. This the end of him. This where he finally kicks the bucket. If Thelonious Jaha could see him now...okay maybe he doesn't want him to see him right now since he's got his shirt up around his armpits and a hand shoved down his underwear like a true horny teenage bastard. But he'd sure be happy to know he finally has rid the world of John fucking Murphy, in fact he'd be weeping with joy. Right next to his asshole son. Murphy really is panicking now and his mind is trying to follow about 50 different tangents at once because anything is better than reality right about now.

Bellamy is awake. Bellamy said his name. Bellamy is sitting up.

"Murphy," there it is again. The bringer of his death. The resigned sigh of...wait a minute. That... That didn't really sound like a sigh. A gut wrenching moan filled with layer upon layer of filthy sex god lust? Yes. A sigh that signifies just how fucked Murphy is? Well, if he's lucky...

 

"Get over here already, you fucking idiot."

 

That's more like it.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
